[Lavinia's POV — Black Wall Fortress—Continuation]
Silence.
A kind that crawled into the bones of the fortress after Osric left the chamber.
A kind that didn't comfort…but pressed.
Heavy. Cold. Unforgiving.
I sat there—alone in a war room that suddenly felt too large, too echoing, and too aware of my breathing.
The candles had burned low. Their flames swayed, weak and crooked, like they were struggling to stay alive. The room smelled of ink, drying blood, and iron.
My headache pulsed behind my eyes, dull and relentless.
"Did I make the right decision?" I whispered.
But his words in my head made my chest twist painfully—like the wound I'd given myself was finally starting to bleed.
I pressed fingers to my temples and inhaled sharply.
War I could handle. Death, blood, the weight of armies—I could shoulder them with a straight spine.
But heartbreak?
